


Petty Things

by NoxianTaco



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2763983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoxianTaco/pseuds/NoxianTaco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every time you pulled your hand away to turn the page, you brought it back one centimeter closer to my waistband.</p><p>(A ficlet, short and sweet.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Petty Things

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by something that happened earlier tonight.
> 
> Though it takes place in a similar (modern) universe, the idea didn't quite fit into my other fic. So I wrote something of a drabble.
> 
> Enjoy. <3

You asked if you could read aloud, since you would focus better that way.

And at the time I hadn’t been paying attention, but I must have said yes, because the next time I looked up you were pacing around the room, words slipping off your tongue like wildfire, bold and blazing.

You had always been made fun of for your voice - your friends said you made everything sound like a war cry, and always asked when the cavalry was coming to back you up - but that had never stopped you from using it. If anything, it had encouraged you. It had sent you to the winner’s stage of the National Public Speaking Competition two years in a row.

I kept interrupting to gripe about how the salmon you’d grilled earlier gave me a stomach ache, how I had _told_ you it was too raw, and did you even check the expiration date?

And when I had griped enough times, you sat down on the edge of the couch beside me and kneaded your palm against my stomach, and even now I use what happened next as an excuse to complain, because one time I complained and the best thing that has ever happened to me, happened.

Every time you pulled your hand away to turn the page, you brought it back one centimeter closer to my waistband. I didn’t notice until your fingers were touching the fabric, and _you_ didn’t notice until your fingers brushed over the hair that grew just underneath.

I was wearing sweatpants with nothing underneath, and I wore them low on my hips. It was an accident that could have easily happened, but you looked at me and apologized like you had shoved your entire hand down my pants on purpose, which, by your standards, must have been a sin of the highest degree.

But I didn’t give you the chance to explain that it was an accident, because I didn’t want it to be, and I didn’t allow you to pull your hand away because that would delete the evidence that it had ever been there.

I said, “Keep going.”

You stuttered, “What? It was unintentional, I’m very sorry-”

“I don’t care. Finish what you started.”

Your eyes were wide and gleaming, as always, a bright, happy blue, but your face told of distress.

I remembered feeling my chest constrict when I accepted that it _was_ an accident - in your mind, a mistake.

I let go of your hand; I let it pull away, and delete the evidence that it had ever been there.

But you must have seen, somehow, that I had held on because I wanted you, and not because I was pissed. You were the only one who could ever read me.

Your hand remained, and it crept lower. The print-out you’d been reading lay forgotten on your lap.

“How long ago did I start this?” you asked, and I loved you because you didn’t blame me for falling in love with your stubborn will, your honest heart, your persistent optimism, which was just strong enough to bring meaning to the future without burying it in false hope. You had everything that I lacked, and I loved and hated you for it.

“Too long to remember.”

You smiled, and I think you went in to kiss my cheek, but I turned my head because the cheek wasn’t good enough.

I found out that your tongue didn’t taste as fiery as it sounded, and also that you had no idea how to kiss. I found out that I loved you just the same, even if my impatience made it difficult to teach you, and again and again we fought.

I always said things that I didn’t mean, because I couldn’t control my anger. The way you looked at me taught me more than words ever could. You knew not only how to read me, but how to dip your own pen in the ink and rewrite the parts that got between us.

I loved and hated you for it.

Sometimes I imagine what would have happened if I had never complained about that stomach ache. There would have been no fighting, no shouting, no shoving each other around the living room and having to stand in separate bathrooms to clean up the blood. No sleeping on the couch, searching for explanations as to why each of us stayed.

You would have read through that print-out and attended the conference with the guy who had written it, and maybe you would have accepted his impending proposal to move across the country and work for him. That was the real reason I was in a sour mood that night. I knew he would like you enough to hire you.

But you missed the conference just to show me that you loved me, and you lived here with me for the next four years.

Now we’re in the same place we were four years ago, except this time your hand is there on purpose, and your fourth finger is adorned with a wedding band.

“Keep going,” I say.

“The movers will be here soon. I don’t think it’s a good idea-”

I sit up and push you into the armrest, pressing my lips to yours, and by now you know how to kiss.

“I don’t care,” I say.

You grin because you already knew it, and your hand hasn’t left the front of my pants.

“If they come, we’ll have to finish this at the new place,” you say, because you have an annoying habit of stating the obvious, which I’m sure I would miss if you were gone.

“Fuck me,” I say, because I’m still impatient.

And clearly, not much has changed. I still love you, and we still fight until our fists are bloody enough to make us stop and acknowledge what we’ve done. I think we always will, just as I’ll always love you.

Because the kisses on my neck at night are worth every second of pain. The strong arms around my waist, the war-cry voice reminding me always just whose arms they are.

You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

And I will always complain about petty things, just to remind myself how close I was to losing you.


End file.
